


MOBLIN SIMULATOR: EVENTIDE

by safflina



Series: Moblin Simulator [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22461643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safflina/pseuds/safflina
Summary: What’s it like to live in a monster camp? This question was explored in “Moblin Simulator 2019,” but if you’re wondering whatelseit can be like, this is the sequel for you.Join Knox and the gang as they sing campfire songs, ignore severe weather, and make some new friends(???) on the deserted island they now call home.
Series: Moblin Simulator [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616203
Kudos: 7





	1. PROLOGUE

The gnarled ruin of an ancient Guardian lies still in the moonlight. A hulking figure lumbers from the dark woods, clutching a pouch made of cloth. With its other hand, it scatters small, papery bits of something on the ground. Every few steps, it turns to carefully press them into the dirt with lumpy, two-toed feet before plodding slowly on.

The figure raises its head to the sky to sniff at the fresh air. Rain will come soon. In this part of Hyrule, at this time of year, the wildflower seeds should get enough water to sprout without being tended by hand. But as this beast lowers its burning red gaze back to the ground, it sighs sadly through its nose, sending a puff of air through a snout as long as a man’s arm. It wishes it could afford to stay long enough to watch them grow and bloom. Wishes it could even acquire a simple watering can by honest means. But its deeds must remain hidden, from monsters, from humanoids, from Ganon himself.

_It’s a secret to everybody._


	2. On Island Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You resume being Knox, who is simply having a WONDERFUL time on Eventide Island, thank you SO much for asking!

It is good to no longer be on fire.

The blood moon is overhead, illuminating the sandy ground underfoot and filling your body with a rejuvenating surge of Ganon’s dark magic. The Bokoblins are alive again, too— let’s see... all one, two, three, four, five, six of them. But as the initial relief begins to pass, memories come creeping back of the events leading to this most recent death. Some things definitely could have been handled better. You groan and hang your head in shame. When that apparently goes ignored, you raise it again with an accusatory squint.

_Why do we even have all this fuel?_

There is a pause before Tip and Taj realize you’re asking them-- the veterans of this camp, the only ones who would know.

Taj asks what fuel.

The red barrels! you snarl, the ones that _exploded?_ You gesture to them with a sweep of your arm. None of you have ever actually used that stuff to light a fire. So what’s it here for?

Taj looks around, scratching behind one ear: You mean the scenery?

You pause. ...Okay, yeah, the skulls painted on the red barrels look kind of cool, you admit, and you like the way the Bokoblins arranged them to create a foreboding ambience.

Thanks, says Tip.

You’re welcome, you say, but is it necessary that they be filled with combustible fluid that can cover you all in fire? That has to be a workplace hazard.

Taj insists that the barrels have to be authentic.

You look doubtfully at Taj, then glance around at your four Bokoblins, hoping they will back you up. But Mac is the only one still listening, and Mac is nodding in agreement with a toothy grin.

You heave a wheezy sigh and go to sit down in your favorite spot. What was a Hylian doing on this island, anyway? Could it have been Link? This is such a remote place; what would Ganon’s nemesis want with--

_Mighty Carp do do do do do do_

_Mighty Carp do do do do do do_

Stop, you bark. Stop! There will be NO songs tonight until everyone has thought about why the camp was defeated so easily and come up with some suggestions for improvement.

A hush falls over the Bokoblins, and you look back over at the barrels. You try to think of some use for them, since they insist on keeping them around. You haven’t had any trouble lighting fires the old-fashioned way, so what good—

_Roasted Carp do do do do do do_

It’s like you’re the only one who cares! The first time you ever died, your Bokoblins were just as motivated to improve as you were, but this time they’re acting like it’s nothing. Fine. You give up, too! You give up.

But you can’t rest. Something’s still missing... the third watchtower is dark without its orange glow. That’s it— it’s empty! Where’s the lousy orb?

Tip! you say. Taj! Has anyone seen the orb?

This time, the Bokoblins raise a worried chatter and disperse to look for it, but one by one, they return, empty-handed and apathetic. You don’t know what the orb does. Tip and Taj always said it was important, but they’re not panicking, so you think it’s probably fine to dismiss it. You’re in a bad enough mood already— the last thing you want to do is try to stir these useless lunks to action again. You tell everybody to keep their voices down; you’re gonna nap until morning.

Zed teases you. _That’s not a nap. That’s just going to bed early._

The Bokoblins are lucky you’re too tired to stand up, or you’d clock at least one of them into a nap that lasts to the next blood moon.

But though your eyes are heavy, you have trouble actually sleeping. You’re uncomfortably aware of the ground beneath you. It feels like it’s anchoring you to the world of the awake, where, just outside your comprehension, snippets of the Bokoblins’ songs and conversations ring over and over until, Lord knows how many hours later, it’s finally quiet.

You know what you haven’t thought about in a while? Home, or the camp you called home for most of your life, back on the mainland. Your routine was different there. A hunt could run much shorter than a fishing excursion, if you were lucky, so you had more time to do other things. You haven’t had venison or wild boar in what feels like an eternity. The air was less humid there, less windy. There weren’t as many thunderstorms. You were within walking distance of roads, where you could mug passing Hylians, humans, and other “nonsters” for resources and fun.

And remember the noxious pools of Malice? The way that smelled— strong, deadly, but so _good?_ You’ve scarcely caught a whiff of Malice since then. You can detect traces of it on the jungle breeze, from the Stalkoblins you sometimes see prowling there, but it’s nowhere near as concentrated. You think you might like to visit a pool of Malice again, to stand at a safe distance and breathe in the intoxicating fumes. To taste the heavenly sweetness in your snout and feel the sting on the roof of your mouth. Maybe get closer. Close enough to drink from it. You long to be reminded of the full force of Ganon’s dark energy. What would it be like to feel his limitless power coursing through you, shining out of your eyes, guiding your every movement as you carry out loathsome deeds. What would that be like! To serve as a vessel for your King’s power...! Syere was never your enemy, Knox! Syere was trying to show you the true path to your destiny and you were foolish to resist. Life as a Stalmoblin isn’t anything like you feared. It’s fulfilling, more fulfilling than your own life, it’s like a constant state of _euph—_

You roar, swinging your head from side to side.

_**Okay, now WHAT IN THE NAME OF GANONDORF’S SHRIVELED EARLOBES WAS THAT.** _

Nothing answers. You find yourself standing in the middle of the darkened jungle, where a warm, light rain is falling, dripping through the trees on your head and shoulders. The resident Stalkoblins are nearby; you can smell the airy clouds of Malice and hear their rattling bones.

What a weird, useless, rotten dream. You close your lolling tongue inside your mouth, tear some branches from the closest tree to vent your rage and trudge back through the wet grass towards the camp.

**Author's Note:**

> I will do illustrations again. but not yet.


End file.
